


To Repent (with swords)

by privateerwrites



Series: Musketeer March 2021 [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Dinner, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Food, Gen, Swords, sorta anyway, the musketeers being Good Bros for 1k, this is just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/privateerwrites/pseuds/privateerwrites
Summary: Musketeer March Day 6- SwordsAthos does what he does best and does things for his friends while disappearing and worrying them. D'Artagnan and Porthos make sure that he's alright.
Relationships: Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon, d'Artagnan & Athos | Comte de la Fère, d'Artagnan & Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon
Series: Musketeer March 2021 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188632
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	To Repent (with swords)

**Author's Note:**

> Whee!! This prompt kind of got me so this is a little later than they've been, mostly.

Athos has three swords in front of him, three hours, and nothing better to do than take care of them. The cloth next to him and whetstone are a comforting substitute for the wine that's sitting in a cabinet across the room. He breaths in, and starts in on Aramis' sword first.   
  
He unsheathes it carefully, angles it this way and that to look down the blade. Athos sets it on the table, putting it down in front of him and pushing the others back a little before starting.   
  
The repetitive motion soothes his mind, the sharpening and the rubbing and the cleaning. There is a knock at the door, suddenly, just as he's finishing with Aramis' sword, throwing him a little out of his reverie, startling him more than is prudent for a Musketeer still technically sort of on duty.   
  
"Come in," he calls half-heartedly. He hadn't wanted company, not tonight, but from the sound of the knock it's one of his brothers, and he doesn't want to leave them to worry.   
  
The door opens slowly, cautiously, and there stands d'Artagnan, awkwardly peering in the front entryway.   
  
"Athos?"   
  
Athos sets the sword down.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"Aramis said- well- would you-"   
  
"I won't be joining you all drinking."   
  
"Tha's not what the pup meant, Athos," Porthos' voice says suddenly, coming from somewhere behind d'Artagnan, somewhere that Athos cannot see him.   
  
"I just- we brought supper," d'Artagnan says softly. "Aramis thought you might be hungry, since you've been kind of, um-"   
  
"Your mind hasn't been here," Porthos states. "We were worried about you."   
  
"Oh," Athos says, finally. "Come in?"   
  
They do, taking seats opposite Athos at the table. Athos puts Aramis' sword back in its scabbard, and places all of the swords on a chair. Porthos carries a tray that he sets in front of where Athos is sitting at the table gently, settling it down in front of him like he is a scared animal in the forest that Porthos wants to pet. Athos huffs a sigh and looks down at the food with a slight expression of revulsion- his stomach is not very into the idea of food right now, and he honestly does not desire to eat, even if it is Serge’s best cooking, even if it does smell incredible. He takes a very small sip of the water from the cup that has also been set in front of him and sits back, purses his lips.

“Porth-,” he starts.   
  
"Eat, love. It's alright."   
  
Athos gives them a long, long look, a tired, worn-down one that says _I can take care of myself, thank you_ , but tucks in after a moment, ignoring the flip of his stomach. There is soup and meat and bread and Athos realizes after a few bites that he is, indeed, very hungry, but he suddenly also becomes aware that he is very, very tired. His eating slows as he finishes more of the meal, and when he pauses for too long, Porthos opens his mouth as if to say something, maybe to remind him that he needs nourishment, or to remind him that he did not eat much at midday, either. In any case, he seems to think better of it before saying something, though Athos does try to shovel _something_ in his mouth every time Porthos starts to grow that look.

D’Artagnan looks at him with concern far too deep for his age as he eats, and Athos feels a little guilty for being the cause of this expression on his face. He’s too tired to do much about it, though, and so he instead opts to stare heavily at his soup or his bread when d’Artagnan does catch his eye with that worried look so as to avoid further guilt over things beyond his command.  
  
When the plate is empty and Athos is full, Porthos pulls it back to himself and places it at the end of the table. There is a soft expression on his face, something akin to gratitude or love, though neither word is quite right to describe this look.

 _It is,_ Athos thinks, _a little like when Aramis has prayed to his god for a bit too long._  
  
"We'll be goin', now, leave you alone."   
  
"Wait," Athos says, just as they reach the door. "Stay."   
  
Porthos smiles. "O' course."   
  
So they stay, Porthos and d’Artagnan, keeping Athos company as the hours wear on. Athos cleans and sharpens swords. D'Artagnan watches him for a bit, offers to help. Athos shakes his head in a silent refusal, and so d'Artagnan sits back and watches.   
  
Athos sits there, sharpening and wiping and cleaning, and slowly, his mind clears. He finishes Porthos’ sword, and carefully moves to his own.   
  
He falls into an easy daze, losing track of time and his surroundings as he repeats the motions he's done a thousand times before. His eyes get heavy as he gets about halfway through d’Artagnan’s rapier, and he slowly notices that he no longer has the sword in his hand when he goes to wipe it off and the handle is no longer there, the blade no longer in his lap. His body is lifted and tucked against Porthos' in some sort of carry as he lifts his eyelids into something more reminiscent of being open.   
  
"M not done," he says softly, his words slurring a little. It’s nothing like when he is too drunk to articulate words properly, this condition unique to this half-asleep state, and Porthos smiles softly down at him. His head turns, and he spots d'Artagnan asleep in a chair, and considers for a moment that maybe it is late enough to sleep and stop cleaning, stop repenting for- for- he can’t even remember. Still, he needs to finish the task. He mumbles this into Porthos’ arms again, trying to make him understand this. Mostly, it comes out unintelligible.   
  
"You're going to sleep, Athos."   
  
"Not done."   
  
"Finish it tomorrow."   
  
"Mhm, but Porthos-"   
  
"Sleep."   
  
Athos is set gently in his bed, his shirt somehow gone. Porthos climbs in behind him, and Athos turns towards his heat on instinct. They fall asleep like that, Athos' bare chest pressed to Porthos', warm and cozy, safe as they are.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!!
> 
> If tumblr is more your thing, I'm also over there at privateerstudies!


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